


Watch

by Gemmiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Dean just likes to watch. This is one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch

**Author's Note:**

> Simple PWP. Everything I've written lately has turned out wordy and long. I just wanted to write something short and to the point! Set somewhere in a season 9 where Cas and Dean have an established sexual relationship, Cas still has wings (which are only mentioned in passing), and Cas knows about the Mark of Cain.

Sometimes Dean just likes to watch. This is one of those times.

The sight of Castiel’s dark head bent over him is still new enough that it takes his breath away. Dean likes lying there in his bedroom, propped up on three pillows, watching as Cas drops kisses down his bare chest. He likes to see Cas’ pink tongue slowly emerge to swipe across Dean’s nipple. The sight of that, combined with the sensation of Cas’ wet, slightly rough tongue against the sensitive flesh, never fails to make Dean groan, low and long.

But tonight, Cas doesn't stop there. And when his dark head moves down across Dean’s abdomen, Dean is hard-pressed not to let his eyelids drift shut, arch his head back, and give himself over to the moment fully. He fights to keep his eyes open, though, because the sight of Cas pressing that first kiss to Dean’s swollen hard-on always gives him an intense shock of pleasure.

Castiel is an angel, a creature designed to praise God, to guard Heaven, to sing hosannas. But Cas has put his angelic dignity and reserve aside, and delved happily into the delights of the flesh, all for Dean.

Sometimes Dean can’t stop thinking about that, about the fact that the angel thinks so highly of him that he’s willing to turn his back on everything angelic and pure and holy, just so he can roll around in sweaty sheets with Dean Winchester. He didn't pull away even when he found out about the Mark of Cain on Dean's arm—a demonic mark rather than an angelic one. Dean thinks that says a hell of a lot about the bond between the two of them. The human doesn’t call it love—he _can’t_ call it love, is literally incapable of saying the word—but he knows there’s one hell of a powerful connection between the two of them, and it's more than just physical. So much more.

But when Cas’ mouth is moving over his cock, brushing gentle kisses over his swollen flesh, all Dean is able to think about is the physical aspect of their relationship. He hears himself whispering, _Come on, Cas, don’t tease me, give it to me._ His eyelids have drooped to half-mast, but he still doesn’t miss the way Cas glances up at him, the mischievous light in those blue eyes, the slight curve of his mouth. 

Cas used to be so solemn, so incapable of humor or warmth or human compassion, but he’s become so goddamn _human_ lately. Even after he regained his grace—or stole someone else's—he's kept the qualities he developed as a human, and even expanded on them. Dean honestly isn’t sure if humanity has corrupted the angel, or helped him grow. Cas really has fallen in every way imaginable, as an angry angel once said, but is that a bad thing or a good one? Dean's pretty sure it's a change for the better, but he doesn't have a lot of faith in humanity, and sometimes he wishes the other man was still pure, unadulterated, 100% angel.

But Castiel is the furthest thing from pure now, the furthest thing from angelic, and Dean can't really complain too much. When Cas takes him into the heart-stopping warmth of his mouth, Dean’s eyelashes flutter, and for a moment everything is a blur of white-hot pleasure. But he struggles to pay attention, to watch those full, pink lips closing around his aching cock, the dark head slowly beginning to bob up and down, taking him in further and further. Someone is moaning, _Oh, shit, Cas, God that's good, fuck yeah, just like that,_ and he has the vague suspicion it’s him. But he’s not conscious of speaking, or of his hands reaching down to tangle in Cas’ rumpled hair.

All he’s aware of is the heat of Cas’ mouth surrounding him, stroking him, _caressing_ him.

Cas brings him to the edge of orgasm, then pulls away, and Dean shudders with thwarted need. He looks down at himself, seeing his cock wet with spit and precome, glistening with it. His cock is hard as granite, the head of it almost red, and as he watches Cas slides a teasing tongue over the tip, so that more precome wells out. And Cas _licks it away._ It’s something Dean always finds impossibly exciting. An angel of the Lord, a holy creature of grace and light, lapping up precome like a fucking porn star.

A few moments of Cas' tongue teasing him, and he’s babbling, begging for a climax, alternating between desperate pleas and angry threats— _Come on, Cas, do it now_ and _Damn you, Cas, I’m gonna rip your fucking wings off_ and _Please, Cas, I’m dying here._

But Castiel is an eternal being who cannot be rushed. The world, he often reminds Dean, was not actually created in six days, but rather billions of years, and if God wasn’t in a hurry to get things accomplished, then Dean shouldn’t be either.

Dean generally retorts that _he’s_ not an eternal being, and he’ll damn well be in a hurry if he wants to be. And he’s in a serious fucking hurry right now. 

But begging and threatening isn’t doing anything to move this along, so he trails off into moans and whimpers while watching Cas’ tongue swipe over him with slow, relentless precision. Cas licks him from head to base and back again, slowly, thoroughly. It looks so damn hot, and it feels even better, and before long Dean’s writhing on the bed, almost thrashing, so desperate for release that he can hardly stand it.

His eyes have fluttered shut despite himself. But when Cas stops, pulls away, Dean drags his heavy eyelids open. He looks blearily down his body at Cas, who’s kneeling between his thighs, staring at him with hot blue eyes.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. “I want you to watch.”

Dean nods, unable to do anything but be obedient. He’s kind of used to being the boss in bed, but… well, Cas is a billion-year-old angel, unimaginable power crackling like electricity just beneath his skin. Dean is merely human, and when Cas goes all dominant on him there’s not much he can do but submit. The honest truth is, he doesn't _want_ to do anything but submit. 

He watches, wide-eyed, as Cas takes Dean’s cock in his hand and begins to stroke it. He’s pretty damn sensitive at this stage, but Cas’ hand is just gentle enough to feel really, really good, just firm enough to make Dean groan in something terribly close to rapture.

Cas obviously practiced on himself quite a lot when he was human, because he’s got the hang of this hand job thing down now. His hand moves steadily, and Dean feels the craving for release grow so strong he can hardly bear the ache of need curling tight and insistent inside his balls. He watches as he was told to do, watches as his cock jerks and quivers and spills out little rivulets of moisture all over Cas’ hand. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s sobbing with fevered pleasure, whimpering Cas’ name over and over again. His hips rise off the bed, thrusting hard into Cas’ encircling hand.

The tension builds, and just when he thinks he can’t stand it any longer Cas lowers his head, sucking his dick right back into his mouth. Dean comes violently, yelling and cursing, shooting his load in long, searing spurts right down Cas’ throat. His cock jerks and twitches with every spurt, and he watches through blurred eyes, watches the dark head bobbing up and down, hears Cas’ throat working as he swallows it all. 

At last the angel releases him, slowly, gently licking away anything he missed, and Dean falls back against the pillow with a soft moan, so drained he can’t do anything but lie there and stare at the ceiling. 

He’s drained, he reflects, but in a good way. A really good way. Not just drained of come, but of stress and fear and anxiety. Cas takes it all away, every time, and leaves him in a state of peace he’s not accustomed to feeling, not even after sex.

He's vaguely aware of Cas shifting from between his legs, and moving up the bed. Cas appropriates two of his pillows and stretches out beside him. They don't cuddle—Dean isn't a cuddler, though he's starting to think he might be tempted to make an exception for Cas, one of these days—but Cas does put a hand on the bare skin of his abdomen, rubbing gently. His palm is callused but warm, and very comforting.

"Go to sleep, Dean," he says.

Dean is tired, and not just from the way he climaxed. He hasn't been sleeping well lately, thanks to the Mark on his arm. Even so, he tries to utter a sleepy protest. "Yeah, but you—I mean, you didn't—"

"In the morning," Cas says, and his voice is soft, but impossible to argue with. "Right now, you need your sleep."

Dean blows out his breath in a contented sigh, and his eyelids begin to flutter shut, more or less of their own accord. Just before he surrenders to sleep entirely, he turns his head and sees Cas watching him with those steady blue eyes. It makes him remember something Cas said to him, a long time ago. _I'll watch over you._

He falls into a deep and contented sleep, with Castiel beside him.


End file.
